The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances - Page 73

“My son was, too.” The words fall from my lips without thinking. “Premature, I mean. Maybe he’ll be like you. Early for everything.” I rarely talk about Ellis to people unless others mention him first, so the realization catches me off guard and I clench my jaw tightly in attempt to hide my own surprise.

Megan must notice, though, because I swear I see her eyes narrow slightly, watching me with an intensity like she’s trying to figure me out.

Good luck, I think wryly.

“Harold at the Chronicle told me to take an hour-long lunch break,” she says after clearing her throat. “I wasn’t expecting more than half an hour, so I decided to come by and see where things were at with my car.”

I lean forward onto the service desk, a makeshift cubicle in the corner of the lobby area of the building. There’s an actual office around the corner, but I still haven’t had a chance to sort through the boxes of stuff that were left from the previous owner. “I was just going to call you. Your car’s fuel pump needs replaced, along with a host of other things. You’re aware that car is pretty much unfit to be on the road, right?”

“You’re supposed to be saying things that make me happy to see you, Craig,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her. “That was quite the contrary.”

Relief floods through me when I see she’s actually showing the ghost of a grin on her lips. Jesus, I’d had myself convinced the woman was going to cry her pretty eyes out when I told her the bad news. “I’ll have to work on that, I guess.”

“I’d say,” she agrees with a smile. She unfolds her arms, sighing. “So, what are we talking here for cost, Mr. Connelly? Is this like a-few-hundred dollars expensive, or like you’re-going-to-live-on-ramen-noodles-until-you’re-thirty expensive?”

I burst out laughing, letting my head fall forward. “Wow, I’m a fan of your descriptions,” I admit, shaking my head in amusement. “That depends. How close were you already to having to live on ramen noodles?”

“Damn.” She sighs again. “That bad, huh?”

I’m not blind, or an idiot. I know from Nancy’s incessant chatter that Megan has fallen on some hard times lately, and there’s no way someone moves here from Dallas with only the stuff they have in their car to live with their aunt and work at the Chronicle unless she’s strapped for cash. The woman needs someone to cut her some slack for once. I know the defeated look in her eyes; I’ve wore it myself.

I stand up, slapping my hands down on the desk. “You know what? Let me worry about your car, okay? We’ll work out a deal later. Something that will work for both of us. Sound good?”

She stares at me as though she’s trying to read me like a book. After a long pause, she says, “I don’t exchange sexual favors for car repairs.”

That hint of a smile tugs at her lips again, making me smirk. “Well, shit, Megan. Now I’m going to have to come up with something else to bargain with.” I come around the desk and go to the window, flipping the sign so that it reads Closed. “Now, if you’re done being a smartass, can I take you on the ridiculously short tour of Cardon Springs?”

“I’m not sure I can handle the anticipation, but lead the way, Craig.”

Chapter Five

Megan

Cardon Springs is much nicer than I remember from when I used to come and visit Aunt Nancy and Uncle Doug as a kid. When I’d initially seen the rain pelting down through the window of the newspaper’s office, I was disappointed, thinking I would have to postpone the tour of this place with my very own personal tour guide.

Then, I decided that, no, I wasn’t going to do that. I’d laid in bed the night before after staying up chatting with Aunt Nancy and I’d actually been looking forward to seeing the sights with Craig.

I didn’t know him, but I didn’t have to. Aunt Nancy did, and she liked him, and I have always trusted her impression of others.

The thing is, I like him, too, despite not really knowing him at all. Then again, maybe I just like the idea of having someone around my age to talk to.

Not to mention, Craig Connelly is very easy on the eyes.

So, when I asked Harold at the Chronicle where Connelly’s Auto was, and he chuckled while telling me it was only a hop, skip, and a jump away, pointing in the general direction, I’d headed right over, expecting Craig’s amusing banter and his own intriguing brand of sexiness.

But I never expected this. The man isn’t only sexy as he stands there in grease-stained jeans and a worn charcoal t-shirt with a motorcycle logo on it, he’s absolutely delectable. There’s a smudge of black across his cheekbone and his hands are filthy, too, but he exudes masculinity. A hardworking man who’s good with his hands.

He’s had my brain heading straight for the gutter since the moment I walked through the opened garage door, and after he cleaned up and changed his clothes to take me out on my tour, I had a hard time keeping my eyes off him. Craig even offered to drive me around instead of walking so we didn’t have to trudge through the rain, but I figured I’d already gotten soaked on the way here, and perhaps the cool raindrops would lower the temperature of my blood, boiling in my veins.

Now, we’re both walking down the sidewalk of Main Street, undoubtedly looking like a pair of drowned rats, but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Craig is right, there isn’t much to show off when it comes to Cardon Springs. The locally owned grocery store and the café are side by side; no franchise businesses here. The post office is in the same building as the gas station with two pumps and a convenience store that is open until nine o’clock every night, and there’s a bank and a diner further down the street.

Craig is shoulder to shoulder with me as we bounce up the steps of the post office so he can grab his mail, and I steal the opportunity to hide under the eave while he ducks in and retrieves it. When he comes back out with a handful of flyers and envelopes, I’m wringing my hair out, a huge grin on my face.

“What’s so funny?” Craig asks, running his free hand through his hair.

“Did I really read that sign right when we walked by the diner?” I reply. “It’s only open until eight o’clock in the evening?”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s right. What’s so funny about that?”

Tags: Cass Kincaid Romance
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